


Fatal Magnetism

by Emriel



Series: Fatal Magnetism [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Voldemort Wins, Angst, Blood and Gore, Dark Harry, Horcruxes, Imprisonment, M/M, Mind Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Stockholm Syndrome, Tom Riddle's Diary, Torture, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-07
Packaged: 2019-11-01 04:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17860403
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emriel/pseuds/Emriel
Summary: It started with a dip of a quill. With it, Harry condemned his kind to a fate worse than his. Even if it brings ruin, he cannot stay away.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This work is pretty old :D... I wrote this like 8 years ago when I was still young but I sort of wanted to revisit it and see where it goes from there. This is basically a rewrite. You can find this in fanfiction.net but I cringe at my writing way back then so I don't really recommend reading it from there.
> 
> Fatal Magnetism is a story that branches off from the Chamber of Secrets. The story will involve underage non-consensual sex, torture and gore. If you are squeamish about that, then this story is not right for you. The first chapter is fairly clean, however.

Harry Potter thought he was not lonely.

In a class full of children whose lives were simple, whose worries were fickle, he was horribly out of place. They had no idea what it was like to be in his shoes – _not that they'll ever be in his shoes._ How many people can survive an Avada Kedavra and vanquish a Dark Lord as a baby anyway?

_‘I’m not lonely.’_

The child in him had long yearned for a companion. He longed for someone who can understand what he'd gone through. When he learned he was a wizard, it was the most amazing thing, and the excitement carried over when he saw others like him. He was even more amazed when he stepped foot in the wizarding world.

He thought it was paradise.

Until it wasn’t.

In the wizarding world, he discovered that he was still different. He was was the Boy-Who-Lived. It was funny because so many claimed to know him, wrote books, told stories, and rallied under his name but he never found out until he he turned eleven.

One moment, he was a boy who can't even protect himself from his own magic hating relatives. The next, he was idolized. His coming was that of a messiah. He was on a pedestal; the pedestal was high enough that a fall would break his neck.

Once or twice he asked for help. He wondered why _no one_ could see him as a _child_ . He was robbed of _normalcy_. The problem was, a role was being forced upon him.

People wanted the Dark Lord gone and whoever did it deserved praise and so he got it. He was a miracle even when his defeat of the Dark Lord was a fluke. In the end, the people of wizarding world named him the savior out of convenience. His eleven-year-old mind did not understand that concept when he first entered the world of magic. His twelve-year-old mind still thought it was ridiculous.

So he had no choice but to accept his _savior_ status. It was easy to pretend that nothing was wrong and the more he pretended, the easier it was to assume the persona of the golden boy.

The golden boy was this awkward, heroic, kind, self-sacrificing child. He had friends who were courageous enough to go on adventures with him. He was encouraged to do so. To be the hero and sometimes, if he was being honest… he really liked being that boy. He liked being the savior, and he liked helping other people when he couldn’t even help himself.

Sometimes, he realized, it was becoming easier and easier to become the one thing he desired, and it usually worked. It worked well enough that people didn’t really ask him if anything was wrong.

He adapted to the image the public wanted for him and thus he became epitome Gryffindor, Dumbledore's pet, and the lived up to the title... He continued to fulfill the role because it gave him purpose. In his mind he thought, somehow he was useful and somehow everyone loved him for he was the chosen one.

Still. It was… jarring how no one found it ridiculous...

He was a baby that somehow, through some magical unexplainable means, was able to deflect the killing curse.

As a baby, he saved them from the big bad wizard and was hailed a savior. He was famous for the fact that his parents _died_ to protect him, and the wizarding world showed its gratitude by depositing him to his muggle family who **abused** him.

One moment, they say they love him, and the next, just because of a small incident which was definitely not his fault, they turn their backs on him.

Why can't the wizarding world forget about him? He did not want the spotlight. If it meant that every single “bad” thing he did would be judged and condemned, he didn’t want it.

It all started when he was found in the wrong place at the wrong time. And then things escalated to where he had a duel with Draco Malfoy and the boy had the gall to use Serpensortia.

So what if he could talk to snakes? It shouldn’t mean anything.

Slowly, for doing something that didn’t fit their preconceived image of him, his friends started ignoring him. His house started doubting him and he was being ostracized by the entire school.

Harry Potter was not affected by it. Harry forced himself to believe that.

But he was alone now, and being alone brought all sorts of thoughts to his mind. It was comparable to smoke that clouded everything, even his common sense.

He’d gone through a lot more pain before, when his own family hated him. He thought it was nothing new, but this feeling was in fact different.

Because now he knew what it was like to be loved.

* * *

 

In the middle of the Gryffindor common room, he was writing on a black book. It was a diary covered with black leather, enchanted to write back to him.

He writes because no one else wanted to talk to him.

He acquired the diary in a girl’s’ bathroom. What he was doing there, he had no idea, but it felt sad to just throw away a good enough book.

T.M. Riddle.

No one really knew who owned it, and so he kept it.

He then learned that it could talk back. Harry knew that there was something odd about a seemingly alive person within the worn pages of the book, but he could not help himself.

The book was very kind to him. Tom listened. He never judged.

To a twelve year old, it was all that mattered.

So he wrote of things that he shouldn't have written, entirely too trusting.

_Dumbledore refused. Again._

_He said that he would..._

_But not now._

_Not the right time._

_WHY?_

_I don’t know._

_Maybe he thinks I’m evil._

_I think he’s avoiding me._

_No one wants to tell me anything._

_Is there anything else about the heir_

_that you know, Tom?_

The diary absorbed the words, and a perfectly loopy " **_I_ **" appeared. It was followed by words that intrigued the young child.

**_Sadly, I have shown you everything._ **

**_There is nothing more but_ **

**_I can tell from the way you’re writing_ **

**_that you are not alright._ **

**_What’s wrong, Harry?_ **

Harry took a deep breath and sighed. He wondered if writing to the diary would help, but perhaps it would. His ink made a blot on the page and it spread and was absorbed by the paper like a sponge that never ever got wet.

**_If it’s something_ **

**_you’d like to keep to yourself,_ **

**_Then you don’t need to tell me._ **

Harry drew squiggles, then, trying to calm himself, before writing in very tiny letters.

_They hate me._

There was a big pause as Harry wondered if he should continue... but the thought of writing _it_ on paper, made it all the more real.

_I can't tell you why but_

_they hate me for something that they don't_

_even understand._

_Maybe tomorrow, I will write again._

The diary was quick to respond.

**_I am always here for you._ **

**_Sleep well, Harry._ **

Harry nodded, feeling sleepy all of a sudden.

_Goodnight, Tom._

Harry hauled his tired self off the desk and got into his pajamas. He burrowed under the covers and whispered for the drapes around his bed to close. The dark surrounded him and he fell asleep with the diary under his pillow.

Days passed and the people around him grew to hate him even more. Dobby was still annoying him but the elf was the least of his concerns.

Sometimes he just wanted to scream at everyone and say, “Hey. I’m innocent. Where’s your proof that I’m the Heir of Slytherin? Why do you hate me so much?”

It was maddening.

It was as if they collectively branded him as the one responsible for the attacks. Ron and Hermione were still hanging out with him though and for that he was grateful. He didn’t know what it’d feel like if they left him too.

He also had the Diary.

Tom was the only one who ever listened, without judging. He told him to be optimistic, and between his two friends and Tom, it became bearable.

They grew close enough to the point that Tom began to invite him in his faded world, where things were a lot simpler. It was just the two of them there, and it felt like he had another friend, someone even more special than Ron and Hermione…

Because Tom was perfect.

* * *

 

It was becoming difficult to sleep on his own. He tried to use sleeping potions but it could not be used for a prolonged amount of time. His body might grow dependent on it. His other alternative was the diary.

It was the best solution. It was better than having nightmares. Within the diary he had an added perk of staying awake while being technically asleep.

Inside the little golden world, he was safe and protected.

Tom was so nice and he gave him what he needed.

It was hard to hear them talking against the din.

The students were afraid.

On the staff table, the headmaster's seat remained empty. Hagrid was in Azkaban. The rest of the professors were worried and they could not hide it from the students.

Snape looked upon Harry with calculating eyes and Harry had gone so used to it that he did not bother to glare back.

“Silence!”

Minerva McGonagall stood up from her seat and attempted to reassure the students and the staff as well, that they were doing their very best to capture the culprit of the numerous petrifications. It was only a matter of time, she said.

But it only served to agitate the students even more. Some even asked out loud, “What are you even trying to do about it?”

To this, McGonagall mentioned “Potions are being brewed to counter, but it will take a few months before we get that ready. In the meantime, we will enforce a curfew...”

_Among other things._

The Malfoy heir was gloating to his loyal band of followers that in due time, the mudbloods would all end up getting what they deserved. He told them that Dumbledore will get sacked, and that his father would make it a point to do everything in his power to do.

Harry couldn't find it in himself to disagree or bother to prove the Malfoy heir wrong. For one, he wondered why he should actually bother. Arguing with someone who can't listen to reason would be a waste of his time.

His thoughts on Hagrid were divided. He still didn’t know if Hagrid was behind all this. He didn’t have the heart to question him, and Hagrid was simply avoiding him too… ever since the half giant found out he could talk to snakes, he’d been guarded.

It made no sense that Hagrid wanted to kill mudbloods…. Hagrid would not willingly harm him, or would he?

"Harry... we have to do something."

Harry frowned. “Like what, Hermione?”

As the golden trio, were they expected to miraculously save the day again? He refused to do anything at this point. He wondered if the adults are utterly useless on their own that they would resort to allowing mere twelve year olds to do their work. Why? He stared past Hermione and saw his less than subtle housemates eavesdropping on the conversation..

“I’ve been doing some reading in the library… I think I might have found something, but I’m not sure.”

Harry was still amazed at what Hermione could do, “Alright, let’s go.”

They spent hours in the library.

In the end, they were only able to narrow down a number of things that may cause petrifications and the list was long. Harry still thought it was some amount of progress.

What that achieved was making Hagrid the least likely suspect… and yet Tom insisted he was at fault.

He questioned Tom repeatedly about but somehow... somehow Tom always managed to avoid the topic, and sometimes, Harry would completely forget about it, together with a lot of other things.

* * *

 

"Tom, do you agree with this saying... that there is no good or evil... that there is only power and those too weak to seek it?"

Harry found himself abruptly pulled by the teen.

"Who told you that?"

His back hit the wall. There was a dangerous look in Tom's eyes.

"Tom... it hurts."

The teen snapped out of trance and the tightness on his eyes loosened. Harry attempted to move away, still afraid, but soon found himself encased in a familiar hug.

"Forgive me, Harry. I was surprised... at what you just said. It brought back a _few_ unwanted memories." Tom tried to convey his apology by resting his head atop the smaller boy's eternally messy hair.

Harry could not understand why he started to relax.

Tom brought them towards the sofa where he told the child to lay on his lap while he began.

"I hope I didn’t scare you..."

Harry shook his head and stopped Tom. "It's alright. I'm fine."

Tom laughed. It was warm and it was contagious. Harry smiled and he tilted his head to the side. His eyes fluttered close.

“It was Voldemort… he told me that he could bring back my parents… I wonder if he could. It would be nice to have father and mother with me...”

Tom was silent before he began saying, “There are powers that can bring back the dead… but it will take a great deal of magic to bring back the dead with their souls intact. Did he hurt you?”

“He wanted to… but when I touched him… his body… Professor Quirrell… it turned to ashes.”

Harry thought he could fall asleep then. It got better when Tom combed fingers on his hair. An utterly hypnotic feeling.

"Let me tell you a story..."

* * *

 

Harry woke up with tears in his eyes. Tom had a horrible life. He knew the boy in the story was him. Tom was abandoned by a mother who died soon after he was born…

When he could have been living with his muggle family, he was stuck in an orphanage who did not understand why he was different. It was worse for Tom because those around him didn't understand the nature of his _freakishness_. Harry experienced the same with his muggle relatives. They absolutely hated the thought of magic and he knew how it hurt.

Tom's father was alive and his father knew that he had a child but did not bother finding him.

Like him, Tom wanted love. He wanted a family. They both wanted a place to call _home._

He dreamed that one day his father would come and take him away from the godforsaken place. No one came. All those who bothered to request for adoption would – in the end – back down, because the matron believed he was cursed and she made sure everyone knew about it.

When Tom decided to fight back, no matter how it tore the child – _no older than five and he harbored a thick indignation at the world for being born that way_ – he became cruel and Harry felt miserable for him.

He knew Tom was deliberately hiding things but he knew there were things you had to keep to yourself.

Just like how he hated talking about his muggle relatives, and the cupboard under the stairs.

He knew that it was callous that he never really thought about Tom being a real person. He was just a diary, but lately, as their interactions grew, Harry wished Tom was a real boy. If someone hurt more, it was probably Tom.

They were so similar and sometimes, he was left wondering about where the real Tom Riddle was in the world. He tried searching for him but he could not find records.

Unlike Tom, Harry did not have it in him to fight back. What a Gryffindor he was. Perhaps things would have been different if he was in Slytherin. But he shook his head. If he was in Slytherin, it would have been impossible to meet Tom.

Harry stopped his musings and tried to distract himself by taking a shower and preparing himself to face another day full with unashamed staring, whispering and unfounded animosity.

* * *

 

Harry was sore the next morning and told Ron that he was feeling sick.

"You sure, mate? Snape will be furious."

Harry mouthed with a grin. "Let him be."

Ron whined, "but Harry, the house points!"

Harry chuckled then, and buried his head on the pillow wondering why it smelled different, almost like...

A waving hand to his face snapped him out of his reverie back to Ron who was a little bit ticked annoyed he kept on being distracted.

"I'll make sure to visit Madam Pomfrey and get a pass so don't worry. We won't lose points and Snape can't dock points for me for getting sick. Um. Tell Hermione to lend me her notes later and... I just need more sleep," Harry said.

* * *

 

While Harry was resting, the whole school was in an uproar. Another child had been petrified. A wall was painted red with a message that chilled their bones.

At dinner, Ron cried out in misery. Hermione whispered meaningless words in an attempt to soothe the boy.

Harry was transfixed by the black swirling on his plate.

“Harry… Hary something happened. Hey, are you listening to me? What’s wrong with you?!”

But Harry found it difficult to really concentrate. He felt tired, and his bones ached.

Harry could see how tired he was from the reflection of his face on the glass water. Harry acknowledged that Ron was angry again. Ron would blame him, and for awhile, ignore him, and after some time would pass, make up with him. They'd be best buddies again.

Right?

Had it always been that way? He felt like any moment now… Ron should calm down, and just leave him alone.

He did not want to see the eyes that stared back at him in silent accusation.

But he kept silent. Maybe that was the wrong thing to do because right after dinner, Ron exploded.

"YOU KNOW SOMETHING! That’s why you’re keeping your mouth shut. That’s why you can’t look me in the eye. You’re a bloody liar!"

Hermione tried to pull Ron back. The red-head promptly shoved Harry until his back was to the wall.

“I’m, sorry Ron, I really don’t know what you’re talking about. I just got back from the hospital wing, I don’t know what happened while I was gone...”

“Don’t pretend you don’t bloody know!” Ron took out his wand and seethed, “I should have known all along… the others kept telling me you’re the one one who did it!”

Harry closed his eyes as a sudden wave of nausea hit him. He felt really sick, and it was because of this that when Ron shot a curse, Harry couldn’t dodge.

What Ron was cast a severing charm, and it hit his arm, slicing a part of it like ribbons.

Hermione slapped Ron and proceeded to shake him back to his senses. "Ron, stop. Can't you see Harry's sick? What has gotten over you… We can’t be fighting like this… Just... let it go. Ron–"

But Ron was distraught, and red eyed almost to the point of tears, “Harry… if you really are my friend… we have to do something! Ginny… she’s gone missing. We can’t find her… Give me back my sister…”

But Harry was unresponsive, and could only stare incredulously at his bleeding arm, still not able to comprehend the fact that Ron hurt him, and how no one tried to stop him. He was shocked and speechless that Ron would accuse him of ever hurting his sister.

All the other students were just looking at him.

Hermione's eyes widened when she looked at Harry, "Oh God, Harry," she knelt to next to him and was at loss at what to do, "you're bleeding.”

Hermione offered a hand but Harry slapped it away, afraid, and hurt. Hermione looked at Ron's retreating back and Harry's injured state. “Let me help you, Harry.”

And it was then that Harry suddenly started laughing because sometimes, sometimes you couldn’t help it and it stopped the tears from coming, “do you really want to?”

She backed away, afraid, and left, running after Ron.

Harry remained on the floor and no one, wanted to go near him. He looked at the scandalized faces of the other students.

He should get up… He really should.

He blacked out.

* * *

 

Harry woke up and found himself in the hospital wing. The white walls, the white bed and the smell of antiseptic was strong. The matron guarded the door and wouldn’t let him leave but eventually he was able to sneak out.

He wanted to see the Headmaster.

He found himself in front of the rotating staircase trying to guess passwords and when he got in, he was disappointed to see no one. Dumbledore was gone.

Harry thought that maybe he’d come back, but it was pretty evident that when sunrise came and the headmaster was still gone that he was wasting his time.

The portraits were looking at him strangely when he started crying all to himself.

He skipped his classes, and traversed through the castle like a mindless ghost. He just felt so lost… All he wanted was for someone to listen to him and believe in him.

He shouldn’t have pushed Hermione away… she was only trying to help.

He missed his friends.

He got back to the Gryffindor common room, and by the time he got to his bed, his hands were shaking.

He only had Tom.

* * *

 

_Something’s wrong with me._

_They call me the boy who lived._

_But... I'm nothing._

_If the wizarding world really wanted me..._

_my muggle relatives..._

Harry huddled near the glass window and the leaves flew by swirling, as if dancing to his mood. Harry didn’t notice the way the glass was slowly cracking, and the way the air frosted over.

His quill dipped in ink and he started writing, his thoughts.

_I’m tired._

_I’m really tired._

_I tried to look for Dumbledore._

_But he probably left the school._

_Something’s wrong._

_Everything hurts._

_My hands can’t stop_

_shaking._

_Madam Pomfrey says it’s cause_

_I’m not sleeping well._

_Ron Hates me._

_Ginny… I hope she’s alright_

_She’s gone missing, Tom._

_I hope we find her._

_I can speak to snakes, you know?_

_Does that make me a dark wizard?_

_They all think I’m the Heir of Slytherin…_

_I'm evil…_

_I’m the next dark lord._

_Am I evil?_

_I didn’t hurt anyone._

_I’m innocent._

_It's not fair._

_No one understands._

_I only want to be accepted._

_To just be Harry..._

_I want to run away,. Tom._

 

Harry wiped the tears off, and his hand trembled.

 

_I want to die._

 

Words appeared before he could finish writing more.

 

**_No you do not, Harry._ **

**_Don’t say stupid things like that._ **

**_You’re upset your friends betrayed your trust._ **

**_They’re simply children and children make mistakes._ **

 

I hate them Tom.

I don’t want to stay here anymore.

Hogwarts doesn’t feel like. Home.

I have no home.

 

**_Breathe._ **

**_There will come a time that..._ **

**_you will not hurt anymore._ **

 

Harry trembled, shaking his head. The past few weeks hurt a lot. The whole school hated him. He didn’t know where else to go and he didn’t want to go back to his family.

Harry was engulfed in a blinding white light.

Someone was rubbing his back. Harry felt helpless in his misery and allowed arms to wrap around him. It wasn't as warm as a real body should feel but Harry felt it all the same.

" _Just let it out. You will feel better."_

Harry failed to register that it was murmured in parseltongue. Had he cared to notice, he would have known then... The child might have saved the world from a terrible fate. Yet Harry was so distraught that all that mattered was the _warmth_. Tom Riddle possessively held the child against him and waited for a confirmation of his hunch. The boy felt so right in his arms, it was a wonder why his older self could not feel it.

" _I'm_ s _o... tired Tom... can't stop... crying,"_ Harry replied in parseltongue.

* * *

Ron and Hermione avoided him like the rest.

Madam Pomfrey ended up cornering him in order to have the cut looked at. Some nosy students probably mentioned it to her and so he went to have it healed.

She urged for more rest, and for a longer stay in the hospital wing.

And here he was, attending classes anyway. Transfiguration was an easy subject once he put his heart to it. Ron was missing at his side, and he was alone at the back row. It was no matter.

The class progressed the way it should be. Professor McGonagall refused to tell them anything about the Chamber of Secrets but assured them that they were doing something about it.

They studied the theory of changing inanimate objects to animate objects and vice versa. Obviously, it was trickier to render living objects into seemingly-non living ones. Hermione was more than happy when the professor mentioned they’d be tackling a small bit of human transfiguration and eagerly waited for a demonstration.

When Hermione's hand turned into a paw, she was not as happy however. Harry was called once or twice to recite a passage. It was relatively uneventful and he heard to occasional whisper of his name but that was all the excitement for Transfiguration.

He caught Ron staring and Ron looked guilty.

Harry looked away, unable to deal with Ron’s ever changing mood. One moment he hated him, and another he looked as if he wanted to apologize.

Harry tried to stop his hand from tracing the cut on his arm. He wanted to show everyone he was not affected..

Whispers.

" _They're not friends anymore."_

" _He deserves it."_

" _No he doesn't... I feel sorry for him."_

" _No you don't. He’s looking at you… you might be his next target."_

Harry watched as others turned away when he stared back at them.

_Annoyance._

**_Why don't you scare them a little, Harry?_ **

He did.

To his pure amazement, they all flinched or backed away when he hissed a small "Hello" to them.

* * *

 

Hermione Granger was the next to fall. In the hospital wing, there were thirteen victims. Hermione Granger was holding a mirror. On her hand was a small note that lay forgotten because no one bothered to look for it. Someone started a rumor that those who associated and sympathized with mudbloods and blood traitors would be targeted.

Harry felt numb.

He was beside her, and yet he could not summon an ounce of sadness… Ron was crying, and Ginny was still missing.

Harry was sick.

He was sick in the literal and figurative sense.

Sometimes, things would happen, he would wake up in a place he did not intend to be in. He would lose track of time, and his body would start hurting.

He could still hear the whispers in the walls, and sometimes he talks back to it.

He wonders why it does not kill when it obviously wants to.

Harry does not know what to make of it. Others think he is losing his mind and Harry thinks that it might be the case when he suddenly stops walking and whispers in the air – trying to coax the voice to respond.

And when it does…

Harry finds himself afraid.

_But he does not remember._

He never writes on the diary anymore. He just allows it to engulf him. It was slowly becoming his _home_.

When Harry Potter finally understood that it was better to live within the little golden room than the hateful outside world, he impulsively asked the question.

"Tom... is it possible to stay here, forever?"

Time stopped. The hearth was snuffed out of color. The gold began to chip away and fade. Tom came closer, his smile was wide like a cheshire cat.

Harry thought Tom’s eyes turned red before everything faded to black.

"Why yes. I will grant you that wish."


	2. Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A small mistake can have a ripple effect in the future and the Wizarding World was seeing exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not a lot of changes happened here but the next chapters will be different since I'll be removing and adding new elements :D

Nobody knew what happened down in the Chamber of Secrets.

Dumbledore was forced to address the issue as complaints of two missing children brought the attention of the ministry. Parents took their children and Hogwarts was left barren as the school shut down completely. Months later they discovered the pipes that led to the Chamber.

What _was_ found was the comatose body of Harry Potter. The child's blood painted the floor where a dark mark lay. On the skin of the boy's back, a message was carved written:

_Your Savior is no more._

_Who will you sacrifice to stop the dark?_

Next to him was the rotting corpse of Ginny Weasley. The aurors that were sent down to the chamber then encountered the Basilisk and three men died until they slew the monster.

Dumbledore was swiftly sacked from Hogwarts and his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot was revoked. Hagrid was put to death.

To the relief of many, Harry Potter was deemed alive but try as they might, the sleeping child would not wake. The wizarding world who shunned the savior, now grieves for him.

They paraded his body and began mourning for a child that was not even dead. Only a family of redheads remembered to mourn for the one that actually died. Molly Weasley went missing soon after.

What seemed like an isolated incident soon became a trend. Witches and wizards from across the country were disappearing, never to be seen again.. It was causing undue panic in the wizarding world. They named the occurrence " _The_ _Vanishing Act",_ popularized by a muggleborn witch who likened it to how magicians of the muggle world liked to disappear and no one would be able to prove how it happened.

Months later, the missing people came back dead, in artful yet gruesome ways.

People protested about the lack of action from the ministry but no one knew how this was happening. Death Eaters were blamed but they could not find proof and those that they declared innocent were untouchable by law..

In the midst of the chaos, Harry was asleep in a glass coffin within a glass crypt. It was located in the depths of Hogwarts and guarded by the foulest of creatures. Even if one of them tried to inhale the child's soul, it will find that it cannot for it is gone and locked away in a place that others never bothered to look at, not that they knew what it was or where to find it.

Before the cold room, those who bothered to see the child must answer the trickiest of riddles and survive the most gruesome traps. The wards were utterly menacing.

There are those who attempted to steal the child's body but many have died trying.

For once, the wizarding world was doing a great job in _protecting_ its savior.

* * *

 

_Six months later._

Albus Dumbledore was proclaimed a madman for his insistence that Lord Voldemort was back. Hogwarts was handled by Lucius Malfoy. The Ministry of Magic was still led by Cornelius Fudge and he remains supportive of the changes suggested by Malfoy and the pureblood circle.

There was a mass Azkaban break-out that seemed to have occurred within the past year but since it was so skillfully done that not even the security knew about it, it was kept under wraps.

Security was tighter. There was something in the air that signified a brewing storm and the masses felt it. Something was going to happen and it would affect every single witch and wizard in Britain.

In Hogwarts, Severus Snape declared himself a messenger of the dark. It was a few hours before midnight, and the Halloween ball was in full swing.

He shot a series of lights that put the spotlight on him and dimmed all others.

"Severus, you must be drunk... here let me help you-"

Severus merely pushed away the concerned Pomfrey. He donned a skull mask and began his speech. "The Dark Lord is alive, and it would do you well to submit to his rules. Everything will belong to my Lord as it should have been. Mudbloods and Blood traitors, leave Britain! This is your chance. To all who are loyal, Rejoice! For the Dark Lord will come again to save us from this slowly festering world."

All sorts of creatures came out from each corner of the room. The pumpkin lanterns hanging from the ceiling transformed into Death Eaters. The torches began to breathe fire. The Dark Lord’s followers incapacitated every single member of the staff and started to shoot sparks in their merry celebration of All Hallows Eve. The great hall is full of screams and terrified whimpering.

They all chorused, "The Dark Lord will rise again! Long live the dark and the New Order!"

The Death Eaters soon disappeared and Snape was left standing on the staff table casting a Mosmorde. The dark mark carries out to the ceiling of the Great Hall and it is accompanied by a lot of young screams.

"Run now. Run now little mudbloods! Run for your lives!" Severus Snape uncharacteristically began cackling.

When the Ministry came to apprehend the Severus Snape, a few moments later, the body transformed and they found themselves faced with a Bellatrix Black instead. She told them not to put her back in Azkaban or her lord would be very displeased for them trying to do so. She told them very happily, "If you don't unhand me right now, you're all going to die."

Severus Snape was nowhere to be found.

In a matter of minutes, Dumbledore is once again hailed as a protector. And yet the public could not believe it even if all the proof was before them. They did not believe his words that this was all Voldemort's doing. They lived in denial saying Voldemort was dead.

The attack in Hogwarts proved to be a diversion because after the Bellatrix Black was apprehended, the Ministry fell in a matter of seconds. The whole underground department collapsed due to a series of bombs and was buried in a pile of rubble leaving many dead, or missing.

A new government was established overnight.

On its crux was the newly resurrected Dark Lord. He was starting a revolution. He said to everyone "I want my regime to be peaceful, and in order for that to happen, blood will be spilt. To those who wish to defy my, get out of Britain, for if you remain here, we will find you and we will kill you.".

Many were still afraid and many rebelled.

To make an example, the Death Eaters apprehended fifty seven witches and wizards, young and old. In front of Hogwarts, and all its children, they fired the killing curse. Their bodies were left to rot.

Dumbledore went to hiding together with the surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix.

Chaos ensued.

* * *

 

 

_November 1, 1994_

"It is this day henceforth, that we will commemorate the inauguration of the New Order! This will lead us to a prosperous golden age. Our regime aims to bring back what we have lost within the countless centuries of the suppression of our magic. We will revive our culture and our long lost practices! We will show muggles that we are superior! We will have no need to hide. Wizarding Britain will make this country ours again. With our Lord, we shall triumph over every empire and be a force that will stand above all! Bow down before our mighty leader."

The Dark Lord stood before the masses who prostrated themselves before him. He summoned all the surviving witches and wizards of Britain and they knelt, in fear and awe. They knelt because he willed it. They knelt until their knees hurt, and he watched them, his form shrouded in darkness and his eyes red with suppressed malice.

He smiled and took off their hood and many gasped as they were able to see whom they served for the very first time. Lord Voldemort was a thing of sin and beauty. Rumors of Voldemort being a monster were widespread but the man before them was human.

Death Eaters who were already fanatic could not believe their eyes for they have not seen the face of their Lord in years and yet here he was, like a God among men.

"Today, all of you have agreed to pledge yourself to my cause and my cause alone. Whom do you serve?"

There was a unanimous vow.

"Lord Voldemort"

* * *

 

It was a mistake that Harry Potter never should have never made. If only his friends stayed with him. If only the masses trusted him. If only he didn't trust the words of Tom Riddle.

But that story is of another time and another world altogether. In this world, Harry Potter’s destiny was _very_ different.

The Dark Lord entered the halls of Hogwarts for the first time in two years. He had one goal which was to take back the glass coffin that housed the body of his horcrux.

A team of Aurors who have been newly branded as his Death Eaters were with him. His inner circle stood their ground and ensured no harm came to him.

With Voldemort’s help the wards fell down. His power broke layers and layers of wards, using pure force of will.

And then, the glass encasement that housed Harry Potter was before him, and offered to him.

Tom traced the sleeping form through the glass with manic obsession reflected in his eyes.

"Soon, you shall wake up, but not yet... not yet."

Many weaped as they saw their savior one last time, and the Dark Lord cherished the body like a trophy. He built a castle, and within the castle was a shrine. If one were to visit the well guarded shrine, they would sometimes find the Dark Lord staring at the body within the glass coffin for hours. No one could explain the fixation of their lord to the soulless husk that was Harry Potter for they were missing the greatest piece of a puzzle.

A little black book filled with vivid cries of torment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments help me write~ :D (Yup shameless begging here). T_T Sometimes I still can't believe I wrote this >.> I wonder if anyone ever felt that way before, that you your past work seems better than your recent works.
> 
> Hoping to get Chapter 3 done before March 8 since I got distracted by finishing Descent to Madness. Word count ballooned. T ^ T


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is trapped in the diary and Voldemort spends a special day in his shrine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I intended to get this out last weekend but I forgot I’d be out celebrating my birthday. I ended up finishing Descent to Madness though. :D and I made a new twitter account for any of you who wants to follow me, it’s _emriel. I post fanart and random updates there. Voldemort's POV this chapter.
> 
> If you spot any errors, let me know!

 

How does it feel

to be trapped inside the endless darkness?

Can you deal with the loneliness?

I granted your wish.

Do you regret it?

 

The Dark Lord looked at the words. They remained on the page but it slowly faded away leaving a blank yellow spot to stare back at him.

He imagined the diary to be a sponge, taking in whatever it could get… however Harry was different, for somewhere in the earth, he still had a body.

His younger self was a fool, thinking he was knowledgeable enough with soul magic and severed the child’s mind and placed it within the diary.

Could you call it a success if the boy was rendered comatose, and they were left with nothing but a book that was keen on absorbing magic and wouldn’t respond for over a month? Even if he coaxed it and poured magic daily…

Harry remained asleep. His body was asleep and his mind was buried under the trauma of being forcefully crammed into an inanimate object. Months ago, he took the body from Hogwarts, and it was a pleasant relief to see it did not deteriorate.

He had to hand it to Dumbledore for taking precautions in keeping the boy’s body in its prime state, otherwise it would complicate his plans. Speaking of Dumbledore… his Death Eaters could still not find him.

He was not worried for rebels could be quashed easily if they dared to move against him. His stronghold was still being built, but the old Slytherin Castle was his by name and he picked it for it was still imbibed with the age old magic of his ancestor.

The war front had many ministry officials surrendering and they have already enlisted to be part of his service. The government he established was in its early stages and he needed all the help he could get, even if it was from traitorous scum who would betray him when the opportunity arrived.

Hogwarts was reformed. St. Mungo’s Hospital was soon to follow. He held them all hostage so their loved ones would could come forth and follow. He cared not if he had to spill blood and played dirty if he could attain his goal.

Traitors were paraded naked around the streets and publicly tortured.

One year… one year until Britain was fully his and he could hardly wait.

Victory would be sweeter if he had the boy beneath his feet.

He would not dare force Harry Potter’s consciousness out from his slumber for it could do more damage than do good.

The child should be able to feel the words as he wrote them. He would not see them for the diary does not have eyes, but it should allow him to understand that someone is writing in him.

It was like having words written into his very being. As if it was spoken. As if it was heard. But nothing was there, and this extremely disorienting experience might be part of the reason why the boy was taking so long to reply.

The first Horcrux he made was a special one because it could directly converse with a person. The others weren’t as sentient, for they did not have a voice that could communicate their thoughts. They all worked the same way, consuming the life of the fool or sacrifice that used it.

The first purpose, however, is to chain his soul in the land of the living.

Harry was not a horcrux.

Yet his existence inside the diary was similar. Magic is connected to the soul, but more than the soul, it is connected to the body for the body is a conduit that allowed it to do magic. The magic, soul and body are so heavily entwined and while one can function without one, it is not enough to call it complete.

It was the same reason why even though he had his magic and soul… after being cast out of his body, he was reduced to a wandering wraith, only strong enough to possess the smallest lifeforms, clinging to the earth so desperately always in threat of fading.

Muggles had a body and a soul, but their body is different from one that magic has blessed.

A body with magic but without a soul is simply an empty husk. It is similar to bodies left behind by a kiss of a dementor.

Harry had all three and yet he is incomplete because the three must always be together.

And then… there was the mind, for the mind transcends not just one but all three aspects.

It was painful in the metaphorical sense, for the mind might not be able to comprehend the lack of a body, and for Harry to see within the Diary just as Tom Riddle could pull his memories or conjure a monochromatic world, he would need more than just what scraps of magic. Harry would have to rely on his intuition.

‘We’ll need a sacrifice.’

There was something very perverse about it, in that when he was holding the diary, he was essentially holding the innermost portion of the boy’s essence.

Touching this intimate part of him.

Every stroke of the pen, and every drop of the ink. Harry Potter would feel. Just like he did.

The diary remained unresponsive but there were signs that the boy was alive. Sometimes he could see bits of ink spilling out of the page but Harry was not able to write anything. Perhaps, if he bothered writing at all in the past year and, Harry would have written back sooner.

With the war, he was not able to, but he kept Diary with him like an ever present trophy.

Souls are very delicate things that he’d rather not touch until he had the time for it.

Having Harry not write back to him was a small consequence. For some time, the knowledge that his horcrux was safe was good enough.

Now, imagine his surprise when yesterday the diary began opening by itself. It seemed restless, skimming through empty pages and turning and turning until it stopped. His curiosity was piqued.

The Dark Lord knew that it was unhealthy to think about the boy obsessively.

The boy brought feelings and thoughts that distracted him. He blamed merging with his youngest soul piece.

He did not want a distraction especially at a time when all his thoughts should revolve around his army and the reconstruction of Britain.

Years ago, when he decided to leave the Diary, Tom was flummoxed at the fact that Harry refused to wake up from the mediated sleep. He did everything but Harry was gone. So he resolved not to waste time waiting for the child to wake. That being the case, he set out to find the original soul and brought his other self the knowledge that Harry Potter was actually another one of their vessels.

With little resistance, he, the diary horcrux, merged with the older soul, Voldemort, and for a time he experienced opposing levels of thought. Back then, Voldemort wanted to kill Harry, and yet as Tom Riddle, he saw the child's potential.

What Tom Riddle saw was the potential of an equal. They agreed that the prophecy was too vague.

 

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..._

He took the prophecy in his hands and tried to understand the interpretation. The Dark Lord in question was him. The one with the “power” meant that Harry had a chance. It did not mean that Harry was destined to kill him.

Harry would have a power he would not understand. His theory was it was the power of self-sacrificial love from his mother which he already had plans of dealing with.

Either must die at the hand of the other.

Here the wording is tricky, for if there is no need to kill his own horcrux. Then perhaps this section is negligible, for the word “must” does not even denote assurance that it will happen. It only dictates a condition, and it could be interpreted that only Harry can kill him. And that the only way for the boy to die was if he killed Harry.

Harry Potter will never die, not by his hands or any other.

For neither can live while the other survives.

What is living? It was a strange thought. He thought the riddle was already solved, for as long as he lived, he would not allow Harry Potter to return back to his former life. He could not allow a horcrux of his to live amongst muggles. He would not let go of Harry so he could run back to the light.

The boy was his and he would live the way Voldemort saw fit.

Then, there was the literal interpretation that the boy was poison, one that he must exterminate with his own hands.

For the duration of the war, it was convenient to forget the child's existence... or non-existence. Still, a part of him could not stay away. He was not able to stop himself from staring at the boy's sleeping self. The preservation spell on Harry was magnificently done to the point that it repressed the child's growth and his physical form remained as a mere twelve year-old.

Voldemort knew that the child was better off dead to the world and of course, to him as well. The fact that there was a prophecy that hung over their heads was reason enough. It was a volatile topic that he usually did not acknowledge but it is because of their connection, because fate tied them together that he subconsciously knew he could not stay away.

So now, when Britain was still in such a chaotic state, and as such he could not afford to write on the diary, he still did.

At times, he almost wanted to throw the book away or burn it, just to see whether or not the boy was actually alive. He was wary of using the diary even when he knew that it was impossible to harm him when he was at the height of his power.

The feeling that he had right now was similar to how he first felt when he discovered he was capable of using magic. He was considerably ecstatic that Harry would come back to him. Oh he had plans of waking the child up, but not this soon…

His words were neat and it formed elaborate loops with the inky tip of his quill. Its soft scratching was the only noise in his study.

Harry... Do not ignore me.

Whoever thought prophecies were straightforward lacked imagination and logic. Of course, nothing could be that easy, especially when it came to fate.

He refused to believe that his fate was already shackled down and set to stone, not when the only thing blocking the way was a mere child who is already trapped within his cage.

To kill Harry Potter? It was something that he could not fathom doing at this point.

 

* * *

 

_December 31, 1993_

Some of his followers were bloodthirsty hounds that could not understand his orders to stay put. Months of preparation was ruined because of new recruits who did not know their place.

It was a waste to cull potential but that was what he did.

It was his birthday. For an immortal like him, it seemed almost pointless to celebrate birthdays. After being so close to his goal,

Voldemort vanished the blood off his face as he entered the shrine he made for the boy.

He made him a garden with white walls. Pillars stretched high towards a glass ceiling with crisscrossing metal. Flowers dotted grass, and vines crawled to occupy the walls towards the ceiling, creating a canopy that shielded parts of the shrine from the sun. Around the walls, there was a chasm filled with floating water.

If one were to walk blindly without being keyed into the wards, they would fall to their deaths. A few mindless followers happened upon the room, thinking that his castle was a place they could explore.

And if that did not kill them, something else with.

In the middle, there was a lone tree that wept white flowers. And below that was Harry Potter, within his glass coffin, looking to all the world that he was just asleep.

It was very quiet for it was an enclosed room. The shrine was his sanctuary. When he was about to rest his back upon the tree to gaze upon the child once more, there was a hiss.

_“Master, here again?”_

_“Come join me, Nagini.”_

A large snake crawled across the archway of the garden, and eventually settled around the Dark Lord’s feet.

Voldemort closed his eyes, enjoying the press of Nagini’s scales and took out a diary and a self-inking quill.

 

Harry?

Are you there?

 

Voldemort closed his eyes. It was one of the rare moments that he allowed himself to rest. In this room where there was no need for conquest, it was just silence and peace.

And then. He felt the magic of the book.

 

**_Tom?_ **

 

His heart skipped a beat and a very pleased smile appeared on his face.

It was almost feverish, the way he took the quill and began to write back. His dear child was finally awake.

 

Yes, it’s me, Harry.

Have you been sleeping all this time?

Is this why you could not write back to me?

 

The Dark Lord waited anxiously for the words he wrote to vanish and for that familiar messy scrawl to reappear.

 

**_I always thought I was dreaming._ **

**_It's... so dark here._ **

**_Where are you Tom?_ **

**_You promised…_ **

 

The Dark Lord's quill moved furiously against the page.

 

You fell asleep.

You were asleep for so long.

You refused to wake up...

and now a year or so has passed that–

 

The words swiftly vanished and a panicked scribble came bleeding out of the page.

 

**_A year!_ **

 

The Dark Lord smiled faintly, wondering what the child would look like if they were to face to face.

 

_Sadly, it’s been a year._

_A lot of things have changed._

_The Dark Lord is back._

_You became a permanent fixture in his castle._

_He gloats that you sleep in the face of peril,_

_that you are his trophy,_

_That it was his doing…_

 

The words disappeared, and in place, there was just silence.

 

**_You’re lying._ **

**_Why did you leave me, Tom?_ **

**_I thought… I could stay with you._ **

**_It’s so dark here. I can’t see anything._ **

**_Help me._ **

**_Please._ **

 

Harry was definitely panicking. He wondered if the boy’s mind will break under the strain of sensory deprivation.

 

It was your choice.

I never left your side.

Even when I acquired a body,

And found the owner of this book,

I kept you.

 

The pages ruffled before he could write. It was if Harry was in turmoil. It stopped at a certain page.

 

**_How can Voldemort come back?_ **

**_Is there any way... to leave?_ **

**_Am I still... in the diary?_ **

**_I never imagined it would be like this._ **

**_Where are you Tom?_ **

**_You are Tom, right?_ **

**_Tell me this is not a joke._ **

**_Tell me it hasn't been a year..._ **

**_Please?_ **

 

This was too much, the Dark Lord thought to himself. He could not help but laugh as his quill glided across the page. The Dark Lord wondered why he bothered to not lie but omission is not lying. He wondered if Harry can sense it too, like he could once, 'the victim's heart'.

 

I am not lying.

What would I gain from lying, Harry?

Keeping you within the diary kept you safe.

As to your question

of whether or not you can leave

I think, for now it is safer if you remain–

The words vanished.

In its place was a word with two letters that occupied the whole page.

 

**NO**

 

He stroked the page as if it were a pet. How he wished he could have the boy in his arms again.

...the thrill of honing that trusting child, his foolish Harry believing every word he said so that he could taint him then break him.

He inhaled deeply and expelled a long breath that came out as a hiss.

He forced himself to calm down.

The word "NO" remained. He turned a page and wrote.

 

What good will it do for them to know

that you are alive and not dead?

The world, for one year, has looked upon you

sealed inside a glass crypt.

A seemingly sleeping, soulless husk…

It will be better if you remain there.

It is a dangerous world.

I would rather you remain safe.

Stay and I promise to be your companion.

Know that I do this for your own good.

 

The page bled. It turned the entire page black with the ink seeping into his hands.

It was as if it wanted to erase everything and fill everything with inky black darkness – for the child was delivered a shocking truth after another and one wished for ignorance.

So this is how a diary cries. It continued until it soaked the hem of his garments.

It took some time, and the ink seeped back to the pages.

The words seemed as if it was written by a trembling hand.

 

**_I don't understand this..._ **

**_If you knew this would happen, why?_ **

**_Why?_ **

**_I don’t like it here…_ **

 

The Dark Lord stared at the words and wondered if it was a good idea to have written back in the first place. A part of him enjoyed the silent suffering he is causing the child. But this is how he wants the child.

 

**_It’s so dark._ **

**_I can’t feel a thing._ **

**_I want to see you._ **

**_I’m scared._ **

**_Tom._ **

**_Don't leave_ **

**_me…_ **

 

Voldemort’s grin is all teeth, as he wrote back...

 

I won't, Harry.

 

He would relish the moment he reveals the truth to Harry. There is a part of him that still desires the boy to break, for causing him so much pain… while the other simply wants to keep the boy safe, and _use_ him.

“ _You seem very happy, master.”_ Nagini hissed beside him.

“ _He's awake.”_

 _“The sleeper?”_ Nagini raised her head, butting it against his legs.

“Yes.”

Voldemort put down the quill and stretched his fingers. It was nice to see the roles were reversed, but during the time he was trapped in the diary, while he could feel the desperation, he could not show the panic outward.

He began petting Nagini, and she coiled her body closer.

It was a dark place indeed, where time flowed differently.

He could not show that his freedom, after being trapped within the pages for more than forty years, was dependent on someone foolish enough to open their heart to him. He could not show the fear of being abandoned not knowing if his soul will be safe.

He was lucky that Ginny Weasley was trusting enough, and that Harry Potter was a poor abused child, neglected and wrongfully accused of being the _heir_.

Everything fell into place.

As Nagini fell asleep, Voldemort once again opened the diary, unsurprised that Harry was already missing him. Such a needy child.

 

**_Tom._ **

**_Where are you?_ **

**_Tom. Tom. Tom. Tom...._ **

**_Where did you go?_ **

**_TOM._ **

**_I'm sorry... if I said anything bad._ **

**_Don't go._ **

**_Please._ **

 

Now that Harry was awake, maybe he should give him a little visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :D Thanks everyone for the lovely comments and kudos. I really appreciate them. Next Chapter I'll be changing the rating to M :D
> 
> And I'm not really feeling well so my final proof check will probably be this coming weekend.. I think it's cause spring is coming or something in the air is just giving me allergies... idk but I love you all~


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